photography Jean-Baptiste Duret
photography Gunn Hole
Editorial Email for inquiries and submissions email@example.com Cover artist Jean-Baptiste Duret Design and publication Éric P. Lemoine
ISSN 1760-4796 Contributors to this issue
KC Anneken (USA) Judyette Clarke (USA) Jim Cox (USA) Sheila Curtis (USA) Rick Daddario (USA) Mia DeLight (New Zealand) David John Drew (USA) Janeen Duer (USA) Jean-Baptiste Duret (France) Dale A. Evans (USA) Brigitte Geisler (Germany) Gunn Hole (Norway) Bill Ingle (USA) Faro King (USA) Melissa K. Lane (USA) Kenneth McSween (USA) Tracy Marshall (Spain) William Marshall (USA) Sharon Mendenhall (USA) Lee Muir (New Zealand) Anet Paulina (USA) B. Pollard (New Zealand) Howard A. Reed (USA) Debi Yoachum (USA)
http://wisp.focusphere.net We would love to hear from you Want to react on a published article, or submit your own? Contact us at firstname.lastname@example.org No part of this magazine may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. The views expressed by the contributors are their own and do not necessarily represent those of Wisp e-zine.
When The Sky Shakes Its Marbles Loose… by Éric P. Lemoine
ne or two generations ago, we were taught in history classes that our ancestors the Gauls were crude people living in huts and fearing but one thing, that the sky may fall upon their heads. Of course, for good measure the teachers had to tell the story with the smugness of a person who knows more than believe such silly tales. In science however, we were taught other tales, that we were to readily accept, as if bearing the hall-mark of common sense. That meteorites (a barbarian word for strange things vaguely akin to stones) were falling from the sky, and it was the most common thing since the dinosaurs discovered one bigger than them in their garden once upon the time. Strangely enough, what scientists rarely pride themselves on narrating is how this came to be “common sense” —or expressed mass belief. In April 1803, reports came to Paris that a huge explosion had been heard and a shower of stones had been falling from the sky in Normandy, near a hamlet going by the name of l’Aigle (the Eagle). “Impossible”, “rants of peasants” etc. At the time of the events, these were the most likely reactions you’d get from any ‘reasonable’ man, dignified academician and scientists —and even just considering such things could discredit you as a scientist. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that no one had cared to investigate the possibility of stones falling from the sky. Nevertheless, such a matter of homeland security couldn’t be ignored by the Ministry, and a young scientist, Jean-Baptiste Biot, was sent to the village to report on the occurrence.
After almost two weeks of investigation in situ, interviewing the eye- and ear-witnesses, from peasants to priests, going to more than twenty villages, Biot came back to Paris, to report in from of the Institut de France. His report is thorough, and shows evidence, both physical (remnants of the stones) and moral (social consideration on the witnesses, and their reliability) that indeed an explosion had been heard over the villages like thunder but in broad daylight, and also that stones had fallen, the compounds of which are not locally found in the area, and of a similar nature throughout the villages. He concludes then of the extraterrestrial nature of these stones. Nature has never ceased to create wonders for us to contemplate, that most of the time we can’t readily explain —because they are not expressed to be explained so to speak. Sometimes, a few people, not dignified enough, start to voice something which seems preposterous to anyone who ‘knows better’ (which is often short for “knows better than investigate and search for a wider truth outside the ostrich’s pit”). Those voices, if paid heed to, can be a source of great renewal of our perspectives, because they express outside of the currently held beliefs. It’s an honour to provide room for the dunces and black sheep of the class, and to witness them doodling their imaginary rockets to the moon and castles in the sky. I’ve been a good pupil for far too long.
Inside Editorial, by Éric P. Lemoine (p.3) Shifting Views, Revisiting Katrina by Dale A. Evans (p.5)
photography Tracy Marshall
Virgo, by Elikozoe, photography by Gunn Hole (p.6) Tall Ships’ Races, by Gunn Hole (p.7-9) Whisper Zone (p.9-11), with Judyette Clarke, Janeen Duer, B. Pollard, Howard A. Reed & Debi Yoachum Gates of Horn, Gates of Ivory, by Elikozoe (p.12) True Dream From the Gates of Horn, by Hayley Youngblud (p.13) Dream Snapshots, by Tracy Marshall (p.14) Communication with the Dead, by Bill Ingle (p.15-16) Billy Johnson Heads Report, photo-reportage by Sheila Curtis (p.16-17) Sun Meditation, by Jim Cox (p.17) My Yogilates Classes and Practice, by Mia DeLight (p.18-19) Elves, by Sharon Mendenhall (p.20) Re-meh meh Remember Member, by William Marshall (p.21) Upgrading the Network, by Anet Paulina (p.22) Life Remains Eternally, by Melissa K. Lane (p.23) Noetic Justice, story and artwork by Kenneth McSween (p.24-27) The Vortex Clock, by Faro King (p.28) Scærubus, by David John Drew (p.29)
Shifting Views by Dale A. Evans
I’ve been looking at what major expression is being expressed in this event. I can make a long lists of beliefs I’m addressing to, but so far have not identified the actual energy I’m expressing. Maybe because it isn’t just one.
These types of mass events rarely evoke any strong emotional response for me. My friend Kat, who came north to visit just before Hurricane Katrina hit, may have lost everything she owned and I still haven’t gotten emotional about it. I easily express trust in these mass creations. I know everything is alright, despite its appearance.
I also don’t listen to the news so what I know is from word of mouth. I do know that the people dying in hospitals stood out to me and I saw it as one of my last ‘shrines of safety’ crumbling apart. In my perception, I could pretty much guarantee that I’d be safe in a hospital (forgoing all my medical ineptitude and mistake beliefs). But, I’m not safe anywhere, except when I am expressing it. I think that’s one of the points I’m bringing home to myself — I create it all.
n 2005, we generated Hurricane Katrina hitting the gulf coast. Now, three years later, we are doing so again… This is what I wrote in the aftermath:
My perception of it is my perception of it. The happening of all these events is generated by energy I’m expressing. So more than looking at any of these events, I’m looking at me, what I’m doing, which is much movement presently. I perceive these events as choices, choices that are beneficial. They may be traumatic, but they are the perfect method to get the jobs done, so to speak. I can say that having spent most of my life generating trauma, people feeling sorry for me never did me a lick of good. In fact, it helped encourage and support my feelings of helplessness and powerlessness. When people offer me pity, I know I’m expressing victim. Being a victim isn’t bad or wrong, but it’s unpleasant to me. When these sort of traumas occur, I see a lot of shoulds being expressed. What we should do, what we should have done. And I automatically begin to compare myself to these expectations, these expectations that are reﬂections of my un-acceptance of myself. I think everybody should do whatever they want in these situations, but I caution people to pay attention to what they are actually doing, actually expressing within energy. The camouﬂages of helpfulness are plenty and it can be pretty easy to perpetuate things that one is wanting to stop. Up until now, my son has had no interest in Katrina. Just last night he said he was going to make a donation. I watched him totally alter his perception. Now he is very much enjoying himself, being the dramatic bleeding heart. It’s fun for him.
satellite photography of Hurricane Katrina - NASA
Another belief I see playing out is that it seems more honorable to give to strangers and have it be seen and acknowledged by others than to simply be a giving person all the time. I notice the very different expressions of energy in those two expressions. I did not choose a hurricane in my physical proximity, but I’m still participating. I am participating in my own manner. I find it best to pay attention to that than concern myself with how others are creating. In addition, in the aftermath, I see the energy of wanting to hold onto this creation, projecting it into the future, not allowing it to pass or move through easily. In most cases, expecting the worst, preparing for the worst, wanting that to happen so that I can be right about my speculations. I predict gas prices are going to be astronomical and it will take a very long time to rebuild, forgetting prices will be as I choose and rebuilding will be done when I allow it to BE. I also see a lot of blame being expressed. Blame that authority figures didn’t dictate in a timely fashion, and then blame that they didn’t dictate correctly. No one taking responsibility for their choices; someone else was supposed to tell us what to do. And the overlooking of the more than 80% of people that had made their own choice to evacuate. A reﬂection of not acknowledging myself, my accomplishments, my power. I hear people saying some couldn’t leave, they were victims. Well, in my perception, in my shifty perception, if I was choosing
to experience a hurricane I too would camouﬂage it with being a victim. In my perception, the mass hasn’t shifted enough yet to where people can feel comfortable acknowledging their choice to play victim, nor even objectively acknowledge it as a choice to themselves. I am getting very, very much out of this creation and I trust, I really trust, that those who chose to engage more directly are doing so too. Elias says that I, “incorporate a natural expression of energy in which [my] responsiveness to another individual that may be generating a similar type of energy with themselves would be to be comforting and expressing a gentleness and a supportiveness of them,...” That’s one thing I am doing. Another aspect of this for me is that my attention is focused on being excited about what I am creating. Just now I heard a little NPR excerpt about the people in Pass Christian, Mississippi, who experienced both Camille and Katrina. They were talking about how the spirit of the people is still intact and that spirit will be what makes them rebuild again. I can feel that energy. And I feel it as a choice. Ah, the challenge of overcoming obstacles, natural disasters, whatever you want to call it! Such a strong and passionate energy expression. What better way to physically manifest it than with a hurricane... I also see value fulfillment. I see the rescue workers, the press, the charities, all very excited, excited about what they’re doing! I see people excited about telling their tales. I see people excited about their sympathy. It seems we tend to only focus on the socalled victims and neglect to see how we’re all involved. I’m excited about writing about it. My son is excited about donating. My friend Kat is excited about saying she lives in NOLA and doesn’t know whether her apartment is still there or not. And, because she was here and not in New Orleans, she got to spend time with her mother during her final days. We are all very present.
Dale A Evans is a Personal Reality Coach at It All Begins Now.com.
photography Jean-Baptiste Duret
Virgo (August 23rd - September 22nd)
n Greek mythology, Astræa or “the star maiden”) was the daughter of Zeus and Themis (Goddess of Justice). She was said to be the last of the gods to live among men, at the end of the Golden Age, the utopian era of the beginnings when mankind was immortal and “pure”. When mankind entered the Iron Age, she ﬂed from the hopeless corruption of humanity, and was put by her father Zeus in the sky as the constellation of Virgo —with the instrument of justice, the scales, becoming the nearby constellation of Libra. photography Gunn Hole
The Constellation of Virgo, which is among the largest constellations in the sky is thus depicted by a female symbol, which makes it unique among the zodiac —if not among the stars.
Virgo (latin for Virgin) is thus representing an aspect of the Goddess, all the more since the passing of the Sun through this celestial sign is associated with the harvesting period, and agricultural rites.
No wonder then we find the constellation associated throughout many civilisations to labour and the fertility of both Mother Earth and the sanctified Virgin, who well aware of their powers, remain their own mistresses.
photography Gunn Hole (more on next page)
Tall Ships’ Races Report and photography by Gunn Hole
sually The Tall Ships’ Races go to big harbours like in Liverpool, but this year, a small town at the west coast of Norway, Måløy, had the honour of being one of the hosts. The event has been planned for 5 years now, and many of the 3,000 inhabitants were involved, most of them as volunteers. Then imagine the joy and excitement when for example “Cuauhtemoc” from Mexico entered the harbour! More than 75 sailships came one by one, and all were wholeheartedly welcomed.
The sun was shining, a record amount of people was gathered, it was a perfect surrounding for an extraordinary show. The mood of a carnival in Rio swept through Måløy as the Crew Parade found its way through town. 3,000 sailors danced or marched through the crowd gathered along the street. From Thursday to Monday (August, 4th) thousands of people came together to see the ships, join the ships parties, listen to concerts, dance, see and be seen. An invisible fog of testosterone could clearly be sensed! Sunday night a fantastic display of fireworks could be seen from any part of the town, announced as the biggest ever in Norway. The ships left the harbour the next day, crews and inhabitants waved saying goodbye as the vessels slowly disappeared in the horizon. The town suddenly felt empty. Until next time, then! References: http://www.sailtraininginternational.org/
Tall Ship’s Races, continued from page 8
Head in a Fog If I speak to myself loudly in the centre of town, Gesturing wildly at alarmed passers-by Don’t give me that look and snigger, instead Inquire of me nicely, “how may I help you, Mrs…?” And if I rant maniacally at passing clouds Or weep buckets for buttercups in barren fields Don’t wonder aloud why no body cares Just lend me your shoulder ‘til I’m myself again Though a cup of hot coffee would be very kind.
Some days I am lost in an alien place where My inner most thoughts inhabit a strangers’ face And what happens tomorrow is a tangible fear As gathering storm clouds are never far, but near. Yet on other days I easily put monsters to flight They scatter like skittles on the calm of my mind And screaming is a pleasurable if frightening release Though you won’t understand me, please, don’t judge
The Tall Ships’ Races 2008
And yes, a cup of hot coffee would be very nice.
B. Pollard 02/08/08
North Sea Den Helder (Netherlands)
Illustration Elikozoe Germany
Wisp Wispe-zine e-zine
Oh what wonders it would be a dolphin for a day, to be To go wherever my heart desires amid the bluest and deepest sea My only purpose to explore the wonders offered shore to shore Never wonder who I am and never ponder the concept â€œmoreâ€? A family, a language, community yes, that sounds like heaven to me... Debi Yoachum
Limestone sprinkles Burgandy bellows Cloud puffs in blue All over you Touching me too Marshmallow meadows Clear water drinkles Original balance
photography Jean-Baptste Duret
Judyette Clarke (summer 2008)
Whisper Zone Faith Faith is the unswerving trust in the unproven. It requires occasional affirmation. To know the unproven is not faith but a knowledge of a certainty so steadfast that it becomes unimportant.
Grandmaâ€™s Precaution If wishes and wants were cookies and cake, to the doctor weâ€™d jaunt with a belly ache.
Horward A. Reed
Bobbing duck style, free, loose Dangling dockside toys Eyes dazzled by sticks Angles made of naked masts Ropes and sleeping sails Weekend escapes sit Inviting dreamers to sail Embracing the wind Janeen Duer
Gates of Horn, Gates of Ivory Sunt geminae Somni portae, quarum altera fertur cornea, qua veris facilis datur exitus umbris;
altera candenti perfecta nitens elephanto, sed falsa ad caelum mittunt insomnia Manes.
wo gates the silent house of Sleep adorn; Of polish’d ivory this, that of transparent horn:
True visions thro’ transparent horn arise; Thro’ polish’d ivory pass deluding lies. from Virgil — The Æneid translation by John Dryden (1631-1700)
n Greek mythology, dreams were personified by the gods named Oneiroi. Depicted as black-winged demons, they were relatives of Hypnos, the god of sleep and lived on the farthest shores of the Ocean near the border of Hades (the Netherworld). Dreams were sent to mortals from one of two gates one could find there: true dreams emerged from a gate made of horn, whereas false dreams threaded their way from a gate fashioned of ivory.
In Greek, “ivory” (ἐλέφας elephas) is pronounced similarly to “deceive” (ἐλεφαίρομαι, elephairomai), and “horn” (κέρας, keras) is close to “accomplish, fulfil” (κραίνω, krainou < creation). Thus are the dreams from the gates of Horn traditionally those which bring accomplishment, whereas with those from the gates of Ivory come deception or non-realisation.
here is something that I would like you to do. During the week, before you sleep, tell yourself, if you want to, that you will have a true dream that will come from the Gates of Horn. Now that is an ancient suggestion given by the Egyptians. The Gates of Horn. I do not want to tell you what it means yet, simply to ask you to give yourselves the suggestion —those of you who want to— a true dream that will help harmonize the portions of your being. Now that is part of the suggestion. Ask for a true dream that comes from the Gates of Horn, that will help harmonize the portions of your being. Now such dreams will help you recognize some of your beliefs and will charge your being with energy. The class is quickening. I am giving you assignments. Some of you will follow them, and some will not. But the means will be here for those of you to follow who want to badly enough —I should say, goodly enough— but those of you who are willing to take the time and the energy, those assignments that you have not as yet discussed in class are important.
Seth / Jane Roberts ESP Class, May 28, 1974
True Dream from the Gates of Horn
by Hayley Youngblud
’ve lost track of the exact time, but approximately fifteen years ago I was reading about True Dreams from the Gates of Horn in a Seth book. According to Seth (channelled by Jane Roberts) and other sources as far back as the ancient Egyptians, these are dreams that can help you recognize some of your beliefs and how you form your reality, and supposedly the correlation between your beliefs, your dreams and your daily experience will become apparent. I was not in the habit of remembering my dreams at the time, so I don’t think I expected much when I asked for a True Dream from the Gates of Horn. After so many nights of asking but not remembering anything, one morning at dawn while it was still semi-dark outside, I woke up and remembered a ﬂying dream, accompanied, I believe, by Seth. He looked like that painting of Seth by Rob Butts. I was ﬂying on a carpet, accompanied by a guide. One of those ﬂying dreams where you’re going over great expanses of landscape and water, at great speed. After some time I realized the guide was Seth, or so I believed. This guide had been giving me a tour of my past lives, with a running commentary of each life as I watched scenes from it, kind of like A Christmas Carol. Each life was remembered as I watched the scenes. Then we were transported to the next scene, via the magic carpet. I don’t remember saying anything, just listening and observing. I have a vague memory of the entire dream, but the last scene seemed to be the most significant, even though it was a very simple snapshot. There was the sense that the earlier scenes, though some of them were dramatic, led up to, or back to, this simple one, coming full circle. Uncomplicated. Yet complete.
It was very emotional. I can’t remember everything I saw, but the emotions were strong. Each life I was shown seemed, in the end, to contribute to a common theme. I got the impression that the life as that little boy, with his beloved dog, was the embodiment of all my other lives, in a way that I can’t really explain in the fullest sense. It represented the essence of my greater self. I did view a few lifetimes that I’m certainly not proud of, but I believe that the peaceful life as the little boy –symbolically— is the one I was always striving for. I understood the lesson. It was a very touching moment for me, and I didn’t need any further explanation. I woke up still hearing the guide talking to me, describing the significance of the totality of all my physical lives, what the driving forces were (are), and I could still hear the last words that “Seth” was speaking as I was waking up and pulling away from that scene. I woke up crying, with that song going through my head, but I really didn’t know why I was so emotional. I’m still not quite sure exactly what happened, but this dream did occur during a period of high drama in my personal life, in which I think I was questioning my purpose, and why I was creating the circumstances I found myself in. Then as I thought about it during the day, it became clearer, and I did realize why I had made certain (bad) choices… and how to stop doing that (smile) which is always a work-in-progress for me… and what kind of life I really did want. And more so as the years have gone by. I have also come to believe it has led me to my true passion / purpose in this life, which I’m only now beginning to realize. I think the greatest lesson from that lifetime as the little boy who loved, and was loved by his dog unconditionally, is that I’ve learned to love myself unconditionally. I slip up a lot, and it’s always okay (smile). It had a profound effect on me. Unfortunately I didn’t think to record the last few sentences I heard as I was waking up, just that everything that was explained to me seemed to fall into place. Like a true dream.
It seemed to take place in late summer, in the evening as the sun was low on the horizon. It was a rural setting. I’m not sure of the decade, but in a time of peace. We were ﬂying over this rural area with farmers’ fields and tractors and came upon a tiny hamlet, at which point we slowed down and observed the scene below. A little boy and his medium-sized dog were playing in a country lane. They were so happy, the boy and the dog. They were playing with a ball or a stick. As we came upon this scene, from a height of about 150 feet, we drifted down to about 80 feet, just above the treetops. We followed them along the country lane as they were walking towards the setting sun, playing, casting long shadows. “Seth” stopped his commentary and for some reason I was hearing an old 60’s instrumental, the Theme From A Summer Place (theme from a movie). I don’t know what the significance of that song is, other than the lyrics recall a simpler, carefree, idealized time: “and the sweet secret
of a summer place, is that it’s anywhere, where two people share, all their hopes, all their dreams, all their love, there’s a summer place where it may rain or storm, yet I’m safe and warm…”
I was that little boy. I absolutely recalled being that little boy, and loving that dog. I was a lonely child and the dog and I spent long hours together every day, watching over each other, telling each other stories and secrets, understanding each other, loving unconditionally.
Gates of Horn, Dreams of Truth - Rick Daddario
Dream Snapshots by Tracy Marshall
Dream Snapshots, photography by KC Anneken
efore you go to sleep, tell yourself that you will mentally take a dream snapshot of the moﬆ significant dream of the night. Tell yourself that you will even be aware of doing this while asleep, and imagine that you have a camera with you. You mentally take this into the dream ﬆate. You will use the camera at the point of your cleareﬆ perception, snap your picture, and — mentally again — take it back with you so that it will be the firﬆ mental picture that you see when you awaken. You will, of course, try to snap as good a picture as possible. Varying results can be expected. Some of you will awaken with a dream picture that presents itself immediately. Others may find such a picture suddenly appearing later in the day, in the middle of ordinary activities. If you perform this exercise often, however, many of you will find yourselves able to use the camera consciously even while sleeping, so that it becomes an element of your dream travels; you will be able to bring more and more pictures back with you. These will be relatively meaningless, however, if you do not learn how to examine them. They are not to be simply filed away and forgotten. You should write down a description of each scene and what you remember of it, including your feelings both at the time of the dream, and later when you record it. The very effort to take this camera with you makes you more of a conscious explorer, and automatically helps you to expand your own awareness while you are in a dream ﬆate. Seth / Jane Roberts & Robert Butts, The Unknown Reality Vol. II (hardbound edition) p. 445
hen I first read Seth’s Dream Snapshot exercise I decided to give it a try. It was during a long period of poor dream recall, which was beginning to be frustrating — I felt like I was missing out on huge vastly entertaining portions of my self. I suggested before going to sleep that I would take a mental snapshot of a significant part of the dream, one that would remind me of what the dream was about. And I remembered this: I met my dog Rosie in the dream, who had died the previous year. I said “Rosie! You’re back! I will take a photograph of you to prove that you’re really back, in case nobody believes me” and proceeded to take her photograph with a large black camera. Dream snapshots don’t always involve the inclusion of an actual camera in the dream, of course — this was an amusingly literal interpretation — but it worked! Another dream snapshot was about a car with bald tyres. It was stationary in the dream snapshot, but with the accompanying feeling that it was going to be going really fast. Then I had a lucid moment when I said “WAIT! It doesn’t have to have bald tyres OR be going really fast.” I mentioned the dream to a friend that day who lives on the other side of the globe. At the time of my dream, she had nearly had a car accident in the rain because of her bald tyres. She said that she had been telling herself for ages to replace her bald tyres before the rain. Perhaps this wasn’t so much a dream snapshot in the usual sense, but a telepathic communication, or perhaps even a projection snapshot. Sometimes I wake up with a phrase. Most of these riddles remain unsolved to this day, for example: ‘Coastal parking on any of the gardens of the self’ and ‘One man went to mow a scattered lettuce’. Undeciphered they may be, but they offer an intriguing glimpse into the dream world in the absence of more detailed dream recall. Recently I recalled a dream snapshot of my dog, Tom, who died last year. The dream snapshot inspired me to go for a walk to his favourite place, a lagoon. I had been wondering if Tom’s energy had reconfigured into another creature, and wondering what that creature might be. While I was walking by Tom’s lagoon, a white cow caught my attention, and I wondered if perhaps Tom had ‘reincarnated’ as a cow. The next night I recalled another dream snapshot. I was holding a list like a menu, and I was saying “I like Tom Cutlet best”.
ou wouldn’t expect materialists to take any idea combining contemporary com ing icat mun com with gies nolo munications tech with the dead at all seriously. r several I was surprised to recently encounte ider cons even to sed refu Seth readers who . onse resp my is wing such ideas. The follo
Communications with the Dead by Bill Ingle Ghosts, photography by Jean-Baptiste Duret
1. You and I accept that death is not the end of our existence. Some of us have experimented with mediumship, trance states, and so on, and continue to do so. We’ve relished Jane Roberts’ excellent channelling and taken the Seth material she translated, you might say, to heart. We may have our skeptical moments, when we are perhaps more ego-bound than at other moments, but these moments are all part of our experience on earth and, to an extent, make it easier for us to communicate with others who do not believe as we do, do not share our experiences, have no interest in learning to explore the use of their inner senses, and indeed don’t even believe in their existence. 2. The overwhelming majority of ordinary citizens believe in the existence of an afterlife. They believe this in a variety of ways, some of their beliefs being somewhat akin to what Seth teaches, many quite different in fundamental ways. They may believe in a heaven and a hell, for example, or that evil spirits roam about, or that one sure way to fall into the clutches of the devil is by playing with a ouija board. 3. Official societal beliefs are mixed. The materialist beliefs associated with science do not allow for the existence of soul, afterlife, or All That Is, even though a true believer in science must acknowledge that these areas —owing to their nature— are really out of bounds for the scientific method. Thus we have scientific investigators like William James who studied mediums and their communications, eventually allowing —after ruling out fraud and deception— that about 5% of all that they studied was genuine but unexplainable by scientific means. We also have those who ridicule the William James, insisting that there must be some rational explanation for everything he and his
cohorts investigated, that even if science can’t explain these areas today, eventually it will be able to. A significant but unknown percentage of scientists (scientists may believe one thing privately, but profess contrary beliefs in public, making it difficult to accurately gauge their true beliefs) appear to believe that the brain is the basis of mind, that out-of-body and near-death experiences are created by the brain and its chemistry, and so on. For them, there are no inner senses, no inner realities, no soul, no ATI, etc. With the waning of religion, these folks appear to have the upper hand when it comes to creating official beliefs. This doesn’t prevent us from believing as we do and exploring those directions we find intriguing, nor does it prevent the mass of humanity from believing as it believes, but it does tend to block collective explorations in certain directions, as this tends to strengthen a whole set of limiting beliefs. Communication with the dead is one of those directions; it includes all that accompanies such endeavors —survival of the human personality after death, the existence of that which could be called “soul,” and all of those areas with which non-physical personalities are familiar but which are not apparent when viewing physical reality strictly via the physical senses, in an ego-bound condition. These areas include telepathy, pre-cognition, and so on, not to exclude what Seth calls reality creation, the physical universe as idea construction, etc. In short, ideas like Seth's are opposed to many official beliefs. While certain practices from old traditions and newer variations do have something in common with Seth’s exercises, by and large such activities are not part of official teachings. We are not taught how to meditate in school, for example, while most us are exposed to such beliefs as evolution, chemistry, physics, and so on.
Communications with the Dead, continued from page 15
If objectifying communication with the dead can be accomplished, then, it would serve to bridge the beliefs of those who admire the teachings of nonphysical beings like Seth and the more mainstream, material beliefs. Those beliefs would have to be modified. Communicating with dead personalities in traditional ways will never accomplish this. You or I might become quite skilled at translating the energies of dead personalities, or perhaps attuning to some long dead version of our self or our own larger self or entity; we might publish the results or share them with friends, but until or unless a huge percentage of the world’s population —including those who are the most ardent materialists and generate the official beliefs— engages in such practices, things won’t change.
Dream Snapshot, photography Tracy Marshall (see article p. 14)
I say “why not?” and some on-line Seth readers provide reasons for not exploring in certain directions, not imagining certain possibilities, in effect placing a limit on what is possible. Why place limits on the imagination? If entities could easily interact with our communication technologies you’d think they’d have already done so, long ago, in some way so convincing that no one could easily dispute it. Certainly entities —and “smaller” non-physical personalities, aspects, really— have long communicated with the living; further, they do so quite naturally with those living aspects or personalities who are open to this. This is not the same as sending email, posting a video clip, or creating a web site, however. We do not have two-hour exposes hosted by the dead Peter Jennings we can watch on our computer monitors, not yet, anyway. Maybe such creations will never come about, can never come about, for a variety of reasons. If so, this may still have much more to do with the beliefs of the living than anything else, but implicit in the teachings of Seth is the idea of belief change. Is there any reason this need not include changed beliefs about what is possible in terms of melding our physical communications technology with our inner perceptions?
Billy Johnson Heads Report
So objecting to even simply imagining such possibilities seem to me to be part and parcel of the overall official beliefs, in their own way, as they contribute to sustaining a barrier between what we might experience and believe and the more official beliefs.
3 captions on next page ››
Sun Meditation by Jim Cox I heard an interview with a spiritual teacher, and got this nifty image, so let's try it…
veryone take a few deep breaths and relax playful creativity is good now let's focus that energy together
Sitting on the top of your head is the Sun bumping right up against you where is the edge of the sun? is it the ring of visible fire? or the extent of its light? or the extent of its invisible energy? Considered this way, the Sun has no edge, no limit as its energy continues to expand and spread throughout the galaxy, it is more and more a part of everything else in that galaxy Let that light shine right through you, head to foot let there be no barrier or resistance the rays of light, bouncing off your skin, make up part of the total reflection of light that moves across the universe, taking your essence with it Wherever the Sun is visible, across the Galaxy, you are already there too for everyone here, our energy signatures are overlapping and mixed, creating a new, distinct pattern, with an identity of its own this too moves through the Universe, everywhere at once both local and universal focused in these personalities here, yet existing everywhere
Blue Arrives in Tampa by Sheila Curtis
Blue arrives at Tampa, Florida – After her trip from UK (Wisp #1) to the New Continent through Spain (Wisp #2) and Kentucky (Wisp #3), Lady Blue (one of British artist Billy Johnson’s carved heads) arrives in Florida approaching her final destination before her embarking to the future.
photography Tracy Marshall
A great philosopher said 1, “The nature of God is a circle, of which the center is everywhere and the circumference is nowhere.” So that is your own State of Being You may focus on the personality here, but you always exist everywhere, in the All Enjoy your time together, but remember your true nature.
1 Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), French theologian, physicist and mathematician once said in his Pensées “Dieu est une sphère infinie, dont le centre est partout et la circonférence nulle part.”
Lady Blue basking in a bed of roses in the Florida sun – Recharging her energies after a nice bath, Lady Bluestone is enjoying a bit of basking during the eclipse period. Blue at the Vet – “Blue has a mind of her own”… this is one of the places she literally leaped to on her own, this calendar at the vet’s office. I figure she was responding to the birds and the dogs in the pictures…
My Yogilates Practice and Classes by Mia DeLight Some Background }
y partner Kevin and I have been running Yogilates classes in our home for the last couple of years. It’s a lot of fun and very rewarding. Kevin has been teaching Yoga for more than 30 years, but together we have worked out an awesome program, which incorporates Yoga and Pilates and therefore we call it Yogilates. Kevin had been plagued by a back injury which was caused by years of over stretching in yoga. This is in fact quite common amongst yoga teachers and yoga practitioners. Because yoga is a system that originates in the East, where people are generally more ﬂexible and used to a less sedentary life style, us Westerners have to be really careful as we start practicing yoga. We in the Western countries have a great challenge even trying to sit on the ﬂoor, so standing on our heads or trying the Lotus position in a beginners yoga class is madness to me. When Kevin came across Pilates, he found that it provided “the missing link”, and this is the core strength which will make your back strong and protect you from injuries. The combination of yoga with pilates, gives a perfect balance of ﬂexibility and core strength. It combines the postural, stretching and breathing benefits of yoga with the toning and strengthening benefits of pilates. Yogilates targets alignment, breathing, ﬂexibility and strength — a wonderful, safe workout. It also works wonders with focusing the mind, as you have to be very aware of every movement and work with the breathing system the whole time which makes it quite meditative. Our students are all ages and fitness levels. The youngest we take at the moment is 15 and we have a 75 year old coming to us weekly. Many come to us because they have injuries or back or shoulder problems, and they have been sent to us by their osteopath, physio or doctor. We have been happy to see many positive changes in our students and that is so very rewarding. When I met Kevin, only 3 years ago, I was very unfit and inﬂexible myself. I was a golf player, but was very often troubled by injuries, so I would have months when I couldn’t really do any exercising, owing to back, neck and shoulder problems, knee pain etc. I even had a heel spur which immobilized me for weeks. Now, I am totally free of all that and I am nearly as ﬂexible as I was when I was 12 years old! Isn’t that amazing?
Ouch! My Back! You might think that inﬂexibility, injuries and various kinds of pain in the body mainly happens as we get older, but that is really not so. The bulk of our students are youngish, some have been injured in accidents etc, but most have problems because of bad posture and exercise habits that aren’t giving their bodies a balanced work out. Running, tennis and golf are some examples. The runners and athletes are usually the ones with extremely tight hamstrings, which then in turn give back problems and bad posture. The golf and tennis players often have back, hip, knee and shoulder injuries. Of course this happens when we repeat movements which are “one sided” over and over again… This is fine if we combine our sport with a good stretching and strengthening regime. But many don’t think of this until they get really bad problems and have to give up their sports because of it… I was an example of this myself. Now I haven’t had the desire to go back to the tennis and golf playing, but if I did, I am sure my body would cope much better. Of course posture problems are also a result of our life style and sitting around too much without stretching.
A Posture Checking Tip A lot of back, neck and shoulder problems are caused by bad posture. You can easily check your posture by standing hard up against a wall. The natural curve in your spine should leave a little gap between your waist and the wall. That gap should only be wide enough for your ﬂat hand. If you can get your whole fist in there you might have a sway back and if you don’t have a gap you are likely to have a so called ﬂat back.
Flat Backs Or Slump Posture Runners and athletes often have ﬂat backs. That is caused by tight ham strings (the back of the thighs) and a pelvis that is tucked under too much because of it. Rounded, tight shoulders and a very stiff neck usually go with this as well. We teach a number of exercises that help remedy these problems. One, that can be done at home for the hamstrings (the more often the better) is to lie on the ﬂoor with the legs up the wall. A ﬂat back and rounded shoulders give long and weak overstretched muscles at the back, and short, tight muscles at the front of the body. This can cause a compression of the rib cage which affects breathing capacity. The back of the neck is also compressed which can be the cause of headaches and migraines and of course neck pain.
My Yogilates Practices and Classes, continued from page 15
Sway Back Posture Here, there is too much of a lumbar curve. The behind is sticking out, the chest is puffed out and the tummy is protruding. This can cause serious back problems because the lower back is weakened as the pelvis is tilted forward. The psoas (hip ﬂexors) and the front of the thighs (the quadriceps) are very tight, pulling everything “forwards”, together with the tight lower back muscles and weak abdominals. Sciatic pain is also common here.
Superior lobes in the region of the upper chest, normally quite restricted due to tightness in the shoulders and upper back. Smallest volume.
There are many exercises that can be done to help a sway back, but vital for all postural correction is of course the building of a strong core and learning proper body alignment.
Mid lobes in the chest/middle back region
I had some of the signs of a sway back problem, which is lower back pain, walking on the inside of my feet and sciatic pain. Yogilates gives you the core strength which helps to correct body alignment, and give good muscle tone and ﬂexibility.
Learning To Breathe Breath and Breathing is the first thing that we go through with our new students and all our classes begin with a breathing session. It is amazing how so many who come to us have no idea how to breathe in a healthy and efficient way. Many are shallow upper chest breathers, some hyperventilate and a few are even reverse breathers. With hyperventilation we are talking about breathing too quickly (over breathing) and reverse breathing means to move the belly in on an inhalation and out on an exhalation when it should be the other way round. Here below is the Home Practice Sheet that we hand out to our students and ask them to practice with and we also do the below mentioned strap exercise at the beginning of every class:
Introduction Most of us do not use our lungs efficiently and breathe fully — we are ‘partial’ breathers. Disordered breathing patterns are common and reﬂect tension in the body. Unless we unlearn these patterns they will continue for a lifetime. Poor breathing means that we are restricting the intake of life-giving oxygen and not efficiently eliminating toxins from the lungs.
Inferior lobes below the chest and behind the ﬂoating ribs. Largest volume. Wrap a strap around the lower ribcage, just below the chest, and hold the ends so that the strap is held lightly but firmly against the ribcage. Feel the strap against the side and back ribs as well as the front. Now breathe into the strap and feel the ribcage expand. As you exhale pull gently on the ends of the strap to assist the release of the outgoing breath. Continue this for at least a minute. At first your breathing may be quite rough. Learn to draw the breath down through the throat until you can manage a smooth inhalation. Channelling the breath in this way also helps the expansion of the lungs. In yoga this is called ujayi breathing. Now wrap the strap around the chest and repeat the exercise. Focus on moving the breath into the side and back ribs and become very aware of the ribcage moving against the strap. Release the strap and vigorously tap the area above the chest and at the top of the back with your fingers. Place the hands on the upper chest and draw the breath up towards your hands. If it helps, visualize filling up balloons below your hands as you breathe in and deﬂate the balloons as you breathe out. Check any impulse to lift your shoulders as you breathe in. Now tuck your fists into your armpits and breathe against them.
The following exercise, if done regularly over a period of time, will have a dramatic effect on your breathing capacity. It is designed to target all parts of the lungs, activating areas that currently do not work efficiently —or at all— and thereby increasing the volume of air that you can breathe in and out. This is achieved through regularly exercising the ‘breathing muscles’ —the diaphragm, and the intercostal muscles that lie within the ribcage.
Finally touch the top of your back with your fingers and visualize drawing the breath up towards your fingers as you breathe in. Allow the upper back to sink down as you breathe out. Try to keep your shoulders relaxed throughout.
I hope you have found this article helpful and that it has given some food for thought. And if you don't practice yoga or Pilates already, you might consider joining a class. If you can't find anyone near you who teaches the combination of yoga and Pilates like we do, maybe you can start by joining a Pilates class and see how you find that.
The Breathing Exercise Kneel or sit cross legged on the ﬂoor or sit in a chair. Breathe through the nose with the mouth gently closed. Become aware of your breath at your nostrils. Now shift that awareness to your throat and begin to draw or ‘channel’ the breath down the throat making a soft sound. Be mindful of keeping your back straight and your chest open throughout.
Best of luck!
Firstly we are going to visualize three sections to the lungs (please see picture)
Dragon, photography by Jean-Baptiste Duret
Elves by Sharon Mendenhall
nce upon a time, in the beginning, Althatis (God) created the vibrations, a heavenly group, and the individual tones and hues of his thought. In a burst of imagination, Althatis assembled the vibrations together, and proposed a grand new concept of music. The vibrations were astonished and entranced by the magnificence of Althatis’ thought, which of course was them.
Althatis spoke to the vibrations, and asked them to imagine music within a grand theme called “lasre vinu evol,” but that each individual enhance the concept with a theme of tone and hue composed of imaginative ideas of their own creation. So to detail this, Althatis’ thoughts were given permission to give birth to their own creative thoughts. Not all the music was harmonious, some of it was disharmonious, and the leader of the disharmony band was called Satin, cause he was rather smooth. And of all the vibrations, it was Satin that loved most to bring power to himself in the creation of disharmonious tones and hues. But Althatis explained to Satin that no music could be played that did not have its origin in the nature of “lasre vinu evol,” and if one attempted to do so, one would still only be a tool in the hands of Althatis. Satin was secretly angered and shamed by this information, but continued to interweave his own powerful threads into the blend. Althatis then showed the vibrations what their music had created, for the heavens parted and a sphere of light burst in the emptiness, and a new world with its own history evolved before them, and the vibrations saw that it was good in that the region was interwoven with their own fabrication including those threads of Satin and his bands. But Satin was angered, for he alone wanted to hold the secret power, or rather the power of the secret, but Althatis said that each vibration would find its own secrets in the new world, and the secret itself was but a part of the wholeness and grandeur. Many of the vibrations now wished to enter the new region and begin weaving their threads into blends, thereby giving shape, form, and texture to the fabric, which is held together by a web of time. They named the new region Giya. Satin was one of the vibrations that chose to enter, but covertly he wished to dominate with the power of secrets. Therefore and thusly, those vibrations that desired to experience the new world, shaped Giya of lands, oceans, and skies, with the actions of earthquake, volcano, tidal wave, hurricane, tornado, ﬂood and fire. All the labor was in preparation for the birth of the first born race, the Elves, whose age of becoming they eagerly anticipated.
By the time Giya was designed, the vibrations had separated into tribes called Hughes, each holding dominion in the ﬂora and fauna of traits. But Satin was given the kingdom in the shadows, where he built a mighty fortress out of fear and ruled over many, many beasts such as dragons, bewarewolves, con-trolls, and the billions of little evils. Within the Shadowland thrived the mightiest of all the dragons, the two-headed fire breathing beast of Duplicity, who could only be fought with a double-edged sword. The beasts of the Shadowland were not respectful of boundaries, and roamed all of Giya at pleasure giving birth in the process. So by the time the Elves were born, Giya was well infested with fear and duplicates of Duplicity. Nevertheless, a song of harmony rang out upon the emergence of the Elves, in spite of the fact that the disharmonious shadow children were destined to become an intense adversary. For every Elven was born with the challenge of a shadow attached, but also born with the double-edged sword of Free Will. The Elven are the original offspring of the children of Althatis, thereby also granted the birthright of the freedom of their own creative ideas that add to the composition of the song of Giya. The original Elves were physical manifestations of the ideas that constructed Giya, and therefore were of numerous varieties, some of which still reside in the folklore of all cultures. In fact, all Elves are physical constructs from the story of Giya. Elves possess magic and wisdom and the ability to merge with each other or the animals. Like their creators they are most fond of music and poetry, but are sometimes prone to mischief. Some are considered beautiful beyond comparison, and others ugly beyond comprehension. Elves are immortal, but can appear to be slain, although Elves can only be diminished when completely and totally eliminated from the history of Giya. For if just one Elven lives in memory, they are all immediately reborn complete with language and intricate history. Since the first magnificent birthing of the Elves, many new races have emerged, but the mystery of the Elves remains in their capability to be reborn, each time with a new tale attached.
Re-meh meh Remember Member
lyrics by Tom Jones
by William Marshall
ere’s something that we have all experienced in one form or another. About two weeks ago, maybe more, the child of a dear friend of mine was attacked by several Rottweilers. He’s a tough and brave little dude, but was badly chewed up. I told my wife about it (my memory of this telling is quite clear) and, as expected, she was aghast; asking me all kinds of questions about the incident. Two days later I gave her an update and was informed that she had no idea the little guy had been attacked. She prides herself on her memory. I knew exactly what was happening and it wasn’t that she was experiencing the insidious onset of Alzheimer’s. If this had happened years ago she and I would have butted heads; me arguing that I did tell her and she arguing that I never told her; me thinking she forgot and she thinking I’m losing my mind. This is how most of us continue to treat such incidents. You’re watching a movie with your partner and she reminisces about the first time you saw that movie together. You’re thinking, I never saw that movie and nothing about it is familiar. What is she talking about? OK. You know you have experienced this. How you deal with it involves your modern Cartesian mind that says one of you forgot, and that is because you believe there is one and only one THE REALITY. It becomes a memory thing because we have no other pot to put the experience in. In my example my wife and I were interactive when I was telling her about the dog attack. She was shocked and fired off a million questions, some of which I answered and some I couldn’t. It wasn’t that I mentioned the attack while she was knitting and got back an ‘uh huh.’ That’s something I’m more likely to do (not the knitting part – not that there’s anything wrong with that!). But I’m lucky (there really isn’t such a thing as luck). I have a different pot to put these kinds of anomalies in. Some of you already know about the pot, but most of you have no framework in which to put such experiences and so they all become memory lapses/brain farts. It’s going to take a bit of explaining to describe the pot I put this action into. The name of my pot is Attention. “Attention” is defined as what I am doing —not necessarily what I am thinking. Attention is action and can be multi-tasked. You are your attention. That’s sort of a mouthful, so
Try to remember the kind of September When life was slow and oh so mellow, Try to remember the kind of September When grass was green and grain so yellow…
to understand attention I think it requires an understanding of how we manipulate energy. We are all energy and we interact with each other’s energy, but not always with each other’s attention. It is important to understand that attention can move to thought, but attention is not thought. Usually, when you are interactive with another individual you are interactive with their attention. Your perception configures their body image pretty much in the manner in which they project their body image to you. And most of the time their attention is interactive with you, and visa versa. In the case of my wife and I, I configured her body image and the conversation, but I was not interactive with her attention.
She had no memory of our conversation because her attention was elsewhere. The conversation took place in my reality, but not in hers. ATTENTION IS NOT THOUGHT. She had no memory of our conversation because her attention was elsewhere. The conversation took place in my reality, but not in hers. The movie experience took place in the wife’s reality, but not in her husband’s because she was configuring his energy, but his attention was elsewhere. ATTENTION IS NOT THOUGHT.
My wife did not forget our conversation. There is not a single reality that we all perceive differently. We all create our own reality and usually (but not always) pretty much like everyone else does. If we didn’t our individual worlds would be far more strange than Alice’s rabbit hole. So memory and attention are two different things. Memory may be a brain function, definitely a time function, and a function of our beliefs, while attention is a consciousness function. We are consciousness; not, consciousness is part of who we are. When we try to memorize a string of 40 digits, that function is heavily inﬂuenced by our beliefs. Those with photographic memories have no limiting beliefs that their brains are incapable of doing such things. And it is not the belief we believe we believe, it is the belief that is expressed. I can’t just say I believe I can memorize 40 digits and whallah, I do
it. The belief that is expressed is that I can only memorize 10 digits and that only those with photographic memories can do 40. The expressed belief is also that only special brains can do such things. If I memorized 40 digits then the expressed belief would be that I can memorize 40 digits. But this is all different than not remembering something because your attention was not present. Remember, your attention is you. Now, you may have left energy available for my perception to create you and our interaction, but you really weren’t involved. There was nothing for you to remember, just as my conversation with my wife never took place in her reality. It only took place in mine. There is no THE REALITY that we all perceive differently. There are six billion realities and sometimes what we interact with is the energy without the attention. Now, there also is this time aspect called ‘simultaneous time’ and it says that the “you” that you remember from five years ago exists now. So my wife shifts her attention to two weeks ago and cannot find the experience. This is because the experience never took place in her reality. This is tough to absorb, I know, but our physicists are gradually coming to this conclusion about the simultaneity of time. So here’s some food for thought. If all time is simultaneous, is memory nothing more than shifting our attention to the time in which the experience existed? This is what I think is happening rather than all of our memories being stored in our brains and requiring some retrieval system to unearth them. Who or what is the retriever? I believe we as consciousness is the retriever and we retrieve all of our memories by shifting our attention to the time the event took place rather than pulling them from some neuron in the brain. I can see some of my more rational friends (you know who you are) rolling their eyes and thinking, “Billy has gone off the deep end.” I haven’t, but that is beside the point. With my point of view I no longer get into fights/arguments when someone seemingly forgets an event we mutually participated in. I also no longer blame someone for having a faulty memory or losing their mind, and I also let go of my need to be right. My wife and I are both right. The conversation never took place in her reality, but it did in mine.
Upgrading the Network by Anet Paulina
ecently I accompanied a friend who enjoys gambling on a trip to the casinos. In addition to a desire to win money, which I cannot seem to prevent (the desire, that is, unfortunately not the winning!), my primary motivation in playing the slot machines was to become familiar with how my projection of energy manifests physical outcomes. At times my visualizations seemed to help (especially when my friend, not I, was operating the machine), but the results were unpredictable. Most of the time I could not see a correlation between my perceived state of being (revealed by my feelings and thoughts) and what was happening with the machine. This was frustrating, because as the day progressed I became increasingly aware of the importance of learning to consciously manage my energy.
There are many other realities in which we (as souls or essences) exist, and the Earth dimension is one of the most separated from essence. This is an experience we chose, but it is challenging. Our existence here is analogous to being on a wired computer network in which the router is far away, with poor lines of communication to the individual stations. The global consciousness shift we are in the throes of is, in effect, upgrading the network to have lines of communication that are much clearer and faster. It might be more accurate to describe it as a shift from a wired to a high-speed wireless network. The shift is a process that will take decades to complete. In the meantime, we are still (for the most part) dealing with the cumbersome wired network. With my awareness of other realities that have better lines of communication right now, often I am frustrated and bored with our current system and feel like I’m ready to move on to new adventures. (This is not the same as being suicidal —feeling ready to move on is different from actively trying to make it happen. And although I do not judge those who make that choice, it would not be appropriate for me.) The day after the casino trip, I was discussing the consciousness shift with a friend who described the Earth as being surrounded by a grid of consciousness filled with thoughts, feelings, and energy forms —everything that has ever been thought of or experienced in our world.
git Bri y a ph
l eis eG
The grid acts as a buffer between humans and their soul essences. At a pivotal point in the shift, he said, this grid will dissolve and we will have instant connection. I don’t know that this idea is literally or completely valid, but I sense a basic truth in it. As my friend talked, I suddenly realized why it is so important that I learn to consciously manage my energy: once the pivotal point of the shift is reached, there will be almost instantaneous manifestation of our intent. If we haven’t learned to manage our energy projections by that point, we will be like toddlers running around wielding loaded guns! My second realization was that it is indeed important for me to stay on Earth in a physical body for awhile longer, because I am part of the “critical mass” of people who are highly motivated to become self-aware and learn to manage our energy projections. Perhaps this critical mass must be reached before the shift can fully manifest. I don’t know for sure, but I do know that it helps to feel there is a purpose for my continuing to remain connected to this often cumbersome network.
Life Remains Eternally by Melissa K. Lane
recently experienced something within my immediate circle of family that kind of shook us all to the core, on many different levels. I have been pondering whether or not to share this very intimate experience, and decided it may touch someone who requires healing in this area of their lives. So, here goes… A couple of months ago I was informed by my eldest daughter, Natalia, that she and her guy were pregnant. I was filled with a myriad of emotions, and joy at the prospect of another slice of life being introduced into all of our lives. Natalia was overjoyed at the opportunity of being a mother. When she was a small child she always portrayed motherly traits and voiced that she wanted babies. (smile) She was serious about this. So, as we all settled into our new up and coming roles, it was almost like graduation time. Natalia was to be a mother, Diego a father for the second time, Diego’s son to be a big brother, Lily an Aunt, myself a grandma, and my father a grand-grandfather. We pondered names, baby furniture, paint colors for the nursery, went maternity shopping for clothes for Natalia, etc. I was in the process of rearranging my work schedule to fit, so I could be of assistance to the baby and new parents when the time came. I eliminated things in my life that would no longer be feasible when the time came for the baby to come into physicality. I wrote Natalia a letter, and told her that I loved the baby before it even became a reality, because I love her so much. So, here comes the other part of this story. Last week Natalia went to her first Pre-Natal appointment, and was scheduled for her first ultrasound this past Tuesday. This in itself became a family affair. We all took off work and school to be there to get the first physical glimpse of the baby. We all gathered around the computer monitor and saw the first ﬂashes of the baby. I immediately did not sense anything… which for me is unusual. I thought to myself, “why don’t I feel anything?” I brushed it aside and continued to participate in this event. I also did not want to alarm Natalia who can read me like a book.
Also, being in the medical profession, I knew something was amiss, but kept quiet. After the procedure was completed we were all in the waiting room when the technician came in and said she needed a few more pictures. After this another person came in, and said Natalia was to see her primary physician the very next morning, but would not tell us why. At this point we all knew something was totally amiss. We went to eat lunch, and to say the least it was quiet, and there were a few wet eyes at the table. Tuesday night was like the movie 7 years in Tibet! It seemed never ending. The next morning, Natalia and Diego went to the doctors. I was driving down the road at 11am that morning, and got the phone call from Natalia. She was crying and sounded as she did when she was a small child, and was hurt about something. She went on to say, that the baby had stopped growing at 10 weeks, and that it did not have a heart beat anymore. I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach, and could feel the raw, bleeding emotions of my daughter ﬂowing through me. Everything else in my life stopped at that moment, and my complete focus was on Natalia and how I could transmute some of this for her to ease her pain and sense of confusion. In this, I consciously opened my heart and gave it everything I had, and kept on giving more and going beyond what I thought more ever was. I then snapped into action, as I always do, (one of my best attributes is my ability to snap to, and do whatever it takes, when the shit hits the fan, so to speak). I went and picked up Lily from school early, to prep her and assist her in what was to come with her own emotions regarding her sister and the situation as a whole. Once Natalia was home, and I was able to take her into my heart and arms and ease a bit of the burden, I went home, and sat with all of it with myself for a few hours. Tuesday evening was like a slow moving train and then Wednesday night was even slower! I looked for the deeper meaning of this experience and found the answers. I then relayed them to Natalia which did ease the self blame and bitterness she was feeling, and allowed this phase of emotion to pass through her and out of her.
The next morning, I had Lily taken to school and myself, Natalia and Diego went to the hospital to have the procedure to remove the fetus performed. I did what I do, and set the energy before we got there and held it while we were there, and thereafter. Everything went well, medically, actually better than well… We then all went home, Natalia and Diego to get some physical rest, and myself, a chance to deﬂate. Today is Friday and we are all dealing with the aftermath. I relayed to Natalia and will do so here for others, that no matter how awakened, aware, or fully conscious one may be, while it does help to know the ‘why’s and ‘how come’s of a situation, we still are to give way to the full experience that we have placed before us. That it is not something to brush aside and by the same token, not to allow oneself to be drowned in. Allow and accept the situation for what it is, allow all the emotions to pass through, but don’t for one second, stop moving. Keep on moving and never stop, never quit and never give up… and mostly, don’t dwell… So… even through all my knowing and understanding, I am sad. I am sad, for my daughter mainly, and upset that I can’t take this from her completely and erase the chalk board and start over again, to delete this segment of her life. But knowing what I know, I know it does not work this way (smile) My heart aches for her. I AM Me; and in being ME, I have decided to do what I know how to do, and that is LOVE beyond my current capacity and take this LOVE to a whole other level, so that the healing process will be quick and steady. What I am also able to see, is a set of twins on the horizon, the very soon horizon. Natalia has been made aware of this, and as I told her, it does not dismiss the life that you have carried inside of you, but all is well (smile) The essence of life did not go… anywhere, but remains eternally… Love
photography Brigitte Geisler
Noetic Justice ﬆory and artwork by Kenneth McSween
hen a myﬆerious clue is left behind by her boyfriend Pete, little did Lynda know where it would lead. The chase for ﬆolen diamonds soon enfolds into a madcap romp, from Old Virginia and its deadly country witches, to Egypt and its powerful ancient artefacts. You may find out as Lynda does, that when truth is revealed, there's room for all shades of gray…
1. Approaching The Bench
ete left a clue to his few trusted friends on the outside. It was an oblique phrase at the end of their last conversation during visitation in prison. Jess knew something important was transpiring because Pete never used this mystery talk unless he felt danger. An hour later he was found dead in his cell, apparently at the request of a rival crime boss. Jess called Pete’s girlfriend, Lynda, and told her what he’d said and that he had an idea what the cryptic sentence meant. “Fine Mob Crafting Choir?” said Lynda, sounding distraught and befuddled. “Right,” said Jess, “Pete confided to me that whenever the competition decided to rat someone out, you know, ‘singing’ as in ‘choir’, they’d always meet and discuss things at that bench by the deserted fish market, that’s gotta be where the jewels are stashed. So anyway, as I promised I’ll find ’em and take one or two for my trouble and bring you the rest.” A short time later Jess arrived at the scene and laughed at the irony of it. “Here I am,” he thought, “a criminal, approaching the bench with no fear of a judge, God, I’m so clever!” He chuckled to himself as he shoved the bench over and found in one of the leg’s indentations a small medicine bottle full of diamonds. He of course had no intention of giving any of them to Lynda and by the next evening he planned on being hundreds of miles away. Lynda had never trusted him and had predetermined he would pull a stunt like this, which was why she played dumb when Jess spilled the clue. Pete was a brilliant crook and he never chose girlfriends who were any less in intellect. Lynda knew that Pete was fond of wordplay so she doodled with the phrase: “Fine Mob Crafting Choir” and discovered it was an anagram for: “Micro Graffiti On Bench.” She assumed that Jess would be well out of the picture by now so she casually went to the location of the still tipped bench and examined it with a small magnifying glass. Within minutes she found the tiny inscription she was looking for.
Later, at the very moment that Jess, half way across the U.S., registered extreme dismay at the realization his bottle contained only Cubic Zirconiums, Lynda’s plane touched down in Spain with a million Euros worth of diamonds that cleared customs undetected in her luggage.
2. Nile Be Damned “This is just all too obvious,” she thought. “How’d that f**k trace me to Egypt from Spain?” Lynda was sure that the two small boats must be booby trapped so she decided on a mad swim to the opposite shore. If the Nile crocs and hippos were elsewhere she was home free. She assumed that Jess would be in revenge mode and hell-bent on his “carat of ﬂesh.” The swim wore Lynda out and when she dragged her head up in exhaustion a robed man extended his hand and said in an ominous voice: “Diamonds are forever, my dear, sorry the same can’t be said of your sojourn on Earth.” The man pulled his hood back and Lynda gasped, never having been so relieved and irritated at the same time. “Robin Graves!” exclaimed Lynda, “You a**hole, how can you prank out on me at a time like this?” “Can’t help it,” said Robin, “I’m a fun lovin’ guy.” “Well you won’t get any fun outta me till I see the GPS co-ordinates.” said Lynda in a menacingly sexy tone that made Robin glad he was wearing robes and not trousers. “Interpol’s closing in on me.” said Robin, “Why should I be spooked by your girly ass?” “Because,” said Lynda, “my ‘girly ass’ is gonna save yours if you’re in a cooperative mood.” “I had a feeling you’d say that.” said Robin. Lynda then pulled an object from out of her damp cleavage that made Robin dizzy when he saw it. It was not so much the pendant
on a slinky white-gold chain, but the beautiful way it was wrapped, so to speak. Lynda slapped Robin’s hand when he reached for it. It was an insect effigy; a cicada delicately and meticulously crafted from platinum. “What’d this cost you?” asked Robin. “Most of the diamonds Pete, er, ah, bequeathed to me,” said Lynda, “and that was just to get access to the tribal custodians.” “Let me guess,” said Robin, “you scared ’em into giving it to you.” Lynda smirked, then pursed her lips à la Marilyn Monroe and began to sing: “An incubus touch can be, quite elemental — ’cause demons are a girl’s best friend…” Robin laughed uproariously, then told Lynda about his Interpol run-in.
3. Blown Away, Dandelion “So how’d you shake the Interpol popo’s?” asked Lynda. “Triage, I guess,” said Robin, “I thought I was done but then both myself and that agent noticed Jess, of all people, in the marketplace. He refocused on him and I slipped away. I don’t know how Jess managed to elude them though, he looked like he’d just stepped out from an Opium den.” “So you sent me the alert that Jess was around?” asked Lynda. “Yeah,” said Robin, “I had to make it anonymous.” Jess was back in his Cairo hotel room smoking bowl after bowl of Hashish. In his pondering he drifted back to when he was in the States a few weeks ago. He owed a debt which he attempted to pay off with the batch of diamonds he thought he’d scammed from Lynda. He was in a nearly deserted park at sunset and a seasoned hit man sat with him. He was casually holding a silencer equipped pistol pointed at Jess in one hand and a dandelion in his other. Jess was so positive the diamonds were
Lynda then pulled an object from out of her damp cleavage that made Robin dizzy when he saw it. It was not so much the pendant on a slinky white-gold chain, but the beautiful way it was wrapped, so to speak.
authentic he never bothered to have them checked. The thug sent them via lackey to make sure and they both awaited the results. Bad news —the phone rang three times then stopped, the signal that the gems were bogus. The hit man brought the dandelion to his lips and gently blew, causing it to disperse. He then leaned forward, pushed the gun’s barrel tightly against Jess’ chest and proceeded to pull the trigger.
4. Spoke In Words. No language could have described such swiftness. The dead hit man lay in the grass. He never had a chance to pull the trigger, he never saw the lethal, laser-quick kick that broke his neck. A youngish man, wild haired and grinning, stuffed into his hoodie pocket the gun the man dropped. He looked over and said, “Hi Jess, any questions?” “Jesus!” said Jess. “Close!” said the man, “My name is Spoke. I’m a psychic, and as you’ve seen I’m not too bad at martial arts and crafts either. Pete, bless his criminal genius soul, secretly had me on retainer since my late teens. Gotta find other employment though, now that the cash ﬂow’s dead.” “Why,” said Jess, “Don’t you just pick…” “The winning lottery numbers?” asked Spoke, finishing Jess’ question. “I or no one else can predict the future; it’s about intuition and the ‘most probable’ probabilities. I can see a little further around the corner than most, that’s all, and Pete figured that if cops hired psychics then why shouldn’t he?” Spoke put on latex gloves and began riﬂing through the hit man’s pockets. He found a penlight, perfect, it was pretty dark out at this point. He continued talking as he searched the body for valuables. “I didn’t get your name psychically, by the way,” said Spoke, “I heard from Pete about you and your debt to his competitors. He didn’t trust you as much as you’d surmised. I’ve been watching this guy for a while now and I knew you would come to him to pay up.” “Well, did you pick up anything mentally?” asked Jess. “Oh yeah,” said Spoke, “this gent planned to kill you whether the diamonds were real or not!” In the dead man’s wallet Spoke found three thousand dollars in cash which he put in his own pocket. He also found a very small greeting card. The back of the card contained a note signed by Pete, not too unusual as this hit man served occasionally as a liaison between Pete and the competition’s bosses. The front of the card was a reproduction of a surreal New Age / Fantasy type illustration: railroad tracks, a ﬂoating clock and a fairy princess ascending hovering stepping stones to an ethereal doorway etc.
“We both should get out of here.” said Spoke as he handed the greeting card over to Jess. Next he handed him the hit man’s gun which he’d just wiped the fingerprints from. “You’ll probably want to go find Lynda now.” he added. “He is intuitive.” Jess thought.
5. Shelf Preservation Lynda was a track star in high school and this reminded her of when she would practice sprints on beach sand to build endurance. She had caught a glimpse of the powerful legs of the man who was chasing her along this barren patch of desert. Though dressed in western garb he bore tribal markings which she recognized. His leaders must have had second thoughts and decided to send him to take back the platinum cicada effigy. Being aware of their ways, Lynda knew it would be her death if she didn’t return it. Problem was she’d mailed the artifact for safe keeping to a friend in the States. Presently it was nestled in the false bottom of a cylindrical bread container in a quaint country kitchen in Virginia. With her pursuer less than a hundred meters and gaining Lynda stopped running when she heard a beep signaling she’d arrived spot on to her coordinates. The sound came from a tiny remote control carefully palmed in her hand. She probed with her foot and could feel steel just beneath the sand’s surface. She then turned and stepped back facing her opponent in a fighting stance. Now with just a couple meters distance between them the man lunged forward screaming wildly. At this precise moment Lynda pressed her remote and a circular hatch cover popped up instantly and violently, enough to shatter the tribesman’s left kneecap on contact. The man passed out from the pain and Lynda quickly picked up a rock which she introduced to his head to prolong his lack of consciousness. Lynda climbed into the hatch and closed the cover. She expected this high tech hideout of Pete’s to be unoccupied but as she hit the light switch a voice startled her, rendering much surprise at the sight of whose presence she was in.
6. Pinwheel Of Fortune Smiling before her was Jess. Lynda, smiling also, pulled a hand-made obsidian knife with a blade sharper than any modern scalpel. “Chase to the cut.” she thought. Jess was holding a gun by the barrel, gesturing to hand it to Lynda with no aggressive intent. He also gave her the mini greeting card with Pete’s
note on the back of it. Lynda took the items but retained her distance regardless. “Spoke gave these to me,” said Jess “he also gave me the passkey to this pod. I hate cramped spaces but I can’t seem to elude those f**kin’ Interpol agents, they were tipped off by a tribe that claims you talked them out of a sacred artifact. Now it seems anyone who’s ever known you is under their radar. By the way, tell Robin thanks for the diversion.” “The tribe, hah!” said Lynda, “One of their diplomats is sunning himself by the hatch cover right now and you,” she continued, “went to all that effort to find me and you don’t wish to abbreviate my life span?” “Not now though I did at first,” said Jess, “and that guy Spoke, who I don’t even know, saved my life then suggested I find you, I swear I get the feeling that Pete’s watching me from the great beyond. I can’t decode his note on the card, maybe you can? And keep the gun, I’m done with weapons. Oh yeah, one other thing! In Spoke’s ramblings he recited some nursery rhyme about a ’pinwheel by the garden gate.’ Does that ring any bells?” “No.” said Lynda. She was lying.
7. Yes Virginia Lynda and Jess vacated the pod and went their separate ways. That desert hot potato would take on more metaphorical thermal qualities when the tribesman by the hatch returned to a lucid state. Lynda contacted Robin Graves and together they managed by circuitous means to sneak back into the States. Two days ago they grabbed one of the many cars that Pete had kept stashed throughout the country. Lynda continued to weave the story of her recent life to Robin as they plodded at dusk along a deserted backroad in Virginia. She knew he was sound asleep but it felt good to get it out of her system anyway. When they arrived at their destination Lynda shook the sleeping Robin. “Wake me only for golf or sex.” he mumbled, indicating he wished to doze in the car for now. Lynda felt bad about knocking on the old house’s door at this late hour but Pete’s aunt Millie greeted her with a smile and a hot cup of some bizarre tasting tea. She knew that Millie had written the rhyme about the pinwheel and hoped Spoke hadn’t been here first. She asked if that was the case. “Yes dear, that little paranormal pissant’s been here.” she said with a chuckle, “He’s good but no competition for old Millie! His hand was in the bread jar when he felt my shotgun in his
Gulf Ghost, continued from page 23
back and with a captive audience like that I could not pass up the opportunity to lecture! I told him that I thought Pete shouldn’t have hired him and maintained a clean criminal life and kept the psychic realm out of it! I told Spoke that if he didn’t want to meet my Pete, rest his soul, in person he’d better exit my property real quick-like, tee hee!” Lynda shook her head and laughed. “Can you help me on this?” she asked. “Sure.” said Millie, “Oh that Pete and his anagrams!” she commented while reading the words on the mini greeting card: ‘material of cart ring.’ “Hmm.” she murmured as she paused and reached for a notebook and pen.
8. P.O.W. Prisoner Of Work “PUNK !! You work for US now.” yelled the NSA agent at Spoke, “YOUR skills and you couldn’t overtake an old lady with a shotgun? I’m surprised she recommended you.” “It’s not like that,” said Spoke indignantly, “she can tase people with her MIND, I’m not s**tting you, and don’t rub it in, I realize you’ve got me by the fine follicles but I got a good work ethic so ease OFF!” “So your fence hopping here is for exercise?” “I’m ok now.” Spoke mumbled. “I understand more than you’d imagine, kid.” said the agent, “Nobody likes kissing the royal rectum, but do what we say and you’ll be dispensing your own orders before you know it, and maybe you’ll never have to wear a necktie.” “Sir.” said Spoke. Aunt Millie could do lots of things with her mind, which is why Lynda sought her help regarding Pete’s anagram. Millie liked to utilize computers as much as anyone but she felt she could solve Pete’s encoding more efficiently with her intuition. Within a few minutes she proclaimed confidently that “Material of cart ring“ was an anagram for: “Marion triangle craft.”
Aunt Millie could do lots of things with her mind, which is why Lynda sought her help regarding Pete’s anagram.
“Those synchronicity-slicker psychic folk are NO match for a country witch!” giggled Millie, “That Spoke, on the other hand, darn clever, probably be someone to reckon with when his powers mature.”
“How…?” said a stunned Lynda. “Simple,” Millie replied, “their technology is great for GETTING to Earth, other than that they’re pushovers. I caught this rascal away from the ship, he never had a…”
“Right,” said Lynda, “he may have heard your rhyme from Pete, but wow, discerning that you also used the pinwheel as a visual signal!”
Abruptly the cage door burst open and the small alien leapt out and grabbed Lynda around the waist. She fainted.
“I feel sorry.” Millie said.
10. Gulf Ghost
“For Pete?” asked Lynda.
Robin Graves knew Aunt Millie from his dealings with the late Pete. She was something of a den mother to more than a few eccentric criminals, a dispenser of supernatural knowledge and a complete believer in creating one’s own reality. Robin wondered why such a person would be so appealing to those who made their living waltzing on the edge of chance. She told Robin she thought he and Lynda would make a great couple, though, and that was enough for him.
“No, for Spoke!” chuckled Millie. “I know this charming fella,” Millie continued, “a high muckity muck NSA agent and a rogue one at that, I called him right after I ran off Spoke and they’ve got him now. I provided some blackmail info for them, so Spoke’s once again employed whether he likes it or not, hehe!” “Hmmm, so back to the anagram’s solution,” said Lynda, “and its meaning.” “Hope you’re ready for this.” Millie said.
9. Once You’ve Had Gray There’s No Other Way “Gotta show you something downstairs, Lynda“ said Aunt Millie who then paused suddenly; “Robin.” she whispered. A few seconds later there was a knock at the front door which she answered; Robin Graves stood squinting in the morning sun. “You know where the bathroom is, join us in the basement when you’re done.” Millie announced before Robin could utter a word. Millie handed Lynda a black and white photo depicting a dreary stretch of rural road, she pointed to the picture’s lower right. “It’s faint, but those are three burn marks,” she said, “I was driving home from bingo at the Elks Club, I saw this strange glow coming from the woods and that’s how this game of mine began!” Millie opened the door to the basement and Lynda’s jaw dropped at the sight. “No your eyes aren’t deceiving you,” Millie said with a chuckle, “I decided to rotate the tables, you know. Hey, it’s OUR turn! I ABDUCT ALIENS!” Lynda walked up to a large pet cage, inside was what was undoubtedly an other-worldly being. Wide almond eyes, pasty skin, humanoid, sort of.
Millie had given a sly wink to Robin as he entered her house, he figured she was up to something and this was confirmed moments later by the roaring laughter he heard as he descended the stairs to the basement. Lynda came to the sight of Millie and the small alien laughing and hugging each other. “Sorry about the practical joke!” said a giggling Millie. “I finally found something that scares you! I’ll admit I kidnapped this fellow but I found out right away he’s of peaceful intent. He said he couldn’t gain the upper hand if he wanted to, without a little something his brethren sought here. Anyway, we’re the best of friends now!” “You gotta handle, graymate?” asked a less than amused Lynda. “Dang.” replied the alien, adding, “You know the story, studied and learned the language. Our people don’t use names, but for protocol I gave myself one. It was the first word Millie said when she discovered me.” “Lynda, I’ve got something unsettling to tell you too,” said Millie, “I know Pete told you some things that set you off to treasure hunting and whatnot, but Dang, havin’ just now seen Pete’s words and diagrams on the back of that little greeting card you brought, filled in some mighty weird blanks for me!” “Doesn’t sound all that unsettling.” said a still somewhat huffy Lynda.
“Pete’s not dead.” said Millie. “What the f**k!?” exclaimed Lynda, “How in the…” “You’re used to being without him now dear,” said a consoling voiced Millie, “best to hold that thought ‘cause you won’t be seeing him again. He’s a time traveler, so is that fellow Jess, they’re competitors but only Pete knows this presently. Jess sustained a head injury in his gangster ruse and has amnesia. Pete hoaxed his death to try and recover Jess’ clues but gave up and left this timeframe when he discovered Dang was on the scene. In fact Dang, bless his hearts, he’s got two you know, hipped me to what Spoke, that NSA agent, Pete and Jess have been up to all along.”
As Dang straightened up Spoke and the agent noticed he had a metal object in his tiny mouth. Before they could draw their weapons Dang’s device emitted a strange chattering sound which not only made the two aggressors immobile but caused them to hover above the ground as well. “You set us up!” Spoke managed to exclaim but in a moment both had lost their voices. Dang’s device gave off another odd sound and a very large tetrahedron shaped object burst forth from under the dunes and came to a gentle rest before them. “I’ll never forget that night driving home in Marion, Virginia.” said Millie. “Ah, so that’s the triangle craft.” said Lynda.
“But you’re his aunt, how could Pete be a time traveler?” questioned Lynda. “We’re not blood kin, I just mentored him in the witches ways,” said Millie, “he always called me aunt.” The next week found Millie, Lynda, Robin and Dang many, many miles from Virginia. They stood near a large sand dune on a deserted stretch of Mexico’s Eastern coastline. Even Jess was nearby but hiding. He had been alerted by Spoke of this meeting even though he was not invited. During the risky ﬂight from Egypt his memory returned and at this point he was nothing more than a clandestine spectator hoping for one last clue to help cut his losses. Spoke and the NSA agent approached from a distance and stood before Dang who bowed to them in subservience. “Uncle Sam wants you, and thanks to Ms. Millie we know you’ll come quietly.” said the agent.
One of the triangular facets became clear then opened inwardly. Dang bounced Spoke and the NSA agent along and inside the ship as if they were air filled party balloons. “Dang, what in the hell is that doing in your mouth?” admonished Millie, “You don’t know where it’s been!” Dang removed the object, then held it up. It was the platinum cicada effigy.
“What becomes of those two? said Robin, referring to the agent and Spoke. “Extended vacation.” said Dang, “They’ll be returned unharmed. I don’t wish to establish contact with your world’s leaders under the conditions of ones like them, so, goodbye, it’s been fun!” “I’ll miss you sugarbritches,” said aunt Millie, “don’t make a stranger in a strange land of yourself!” Dang fired up his craft and was gone in a blink. A few minutes later Millie began her drive back towards the border while passengers Lynda and Robin necked in the back seat. Jess now stood at the water’s edge after watching the whole scene from bushes near the dunes. He was glad he’d followed his hunch by dressing in early twentieth century fashion. His sights were set on North Africa circa 1924 and a certain tribe which just might have other gadgets tucked away. Mild waves kissed the shore and ﬂuffs of clouds danced in contrast to atmospheric blueness. Jess lit a cigar as he dematerialized…
“This isn’t merely an artifact, it displaces gravity on a much larger scale than any technology on my planet,” said Dang, “your clever ancients were inspired by the natural sound amplification of certain insects. I’ve been tracking this down for ages, and as with your pyramids I feel this device could be, er, monumental to my planet’s city planning. Worry not, we’ll return it once we discern its workings. No one amongst your present day people would understand how to operate it anyway, but you’re close, especially the tribe Lynda procured this from, so put your minds to it when we give it back!”
Gulf Ghost, oil on canvas, painting by Kenneth McSween
The Vortex Clock by Faro King
his is a first-hand story of a strange pedestal clock that came into the family about six years ago, when my eldest daughter was 16 years old. She was in high school at the time, but she also wanted to have a job to fill up her weekends and vacations. I drove her to the local mall to try and obtain employment… which she accomplished in under an hour. It was just her good fortune (which may be debatable in view of this particular tale) that the district manager of a very well-known chain retail decorating shop was reviewing the local outlet. He said he liked her energy and hired her on the spot as a stocker. She started to work that same week. In late summer, and by the middle of October, she started to bring home “employee purchases” such as my small decorative aquarium with the articulated fish, because she could purchase these slightly damaged items for mere pennies on the dollar. She paid .45 for the aquarium. which had been $17.00 at full retail price. Then sometime around Christmas of that first year, she came home with “The Vortex Clock”… of course, we didn’t know at the time that this is what it was —we innocently thought it to be merely a Tuscan style wrought iron ﬂoor clock. That first night, she carried that heavy clock up to her room on the third ﬂoor of the tower. But by the next morning, the clock was down from the third ﬂoor and was standing in the corner of our dining room. I didn’t think much of the clock being “shared” with the entire family until the day when I smelled the gentle aroma of a sweetgrass offering coming from the same corner that was home to the clock… that seemed to be the start of it all. After that there was a lot of activity in around and near that corner of the dining room. We saw shadow people coming and going and heard distant drumming and smelled aromatics and sacreds being offered… all coming from the area of the clock.
Whenever the vortex was opening, the clock double ticked, like an echo, and became very LOUD. When the vortex was closed the sound of the ticking was just normal, barely audible. The clock’s minute hand and second hand moved forward and backward at random, yet it kept perfect time when the vortex was closed and without having to be reset or adjusted. It just seemed to be on the correct time after the vortex closed. My daughter graduated high school the next year and moved away to college… taking the clock with her. A lot of the activity in that corner faded away and gradually became only some occasional knocking up in the high corner of the ceiling. The dining room has very high ceilings with rafters.. it’s an old, old house. I would venture to say, it’s stuck in the “70”s and not the 1970’s… but I digress.
We would get occasional “Clock reports” from the daughter… it was still mis-behaving. After one very disturbing incident of sleepwalking, she got rid of it entirely, and we did a house blessing for her and for me. I went the extra mile and contacted my sister Krizmarica the Drabadni (Gypsy Witch) for some 3 Thieves Vinegar and a ﬂoor and wall wash called High John the Conqueror which, after use, seemed to calm things down considerably. After the cleansing of the vortex corner in my own home, I placed three beautiful mirrors in that corner, as well as three small chimnea where candles are often burned as an offering. I did note that somehow my ju-ju bags had been removed from the archways in the dining room. Those too, have now been replaced with ceremonial sacreds for the protection of my family and loved ones. But now, about that clock… a few months after she got rid of the thing, and while she was back visiting, there was a program on the Discovery Channel about a house in Georgia that reportedly had a vortex develop in the living room. Having had one ourselves, a vortex that is, we sat down to watch the program. As the home owner was being interviewed… guess what was in the frame of the picture… just behind the man’s shoulder? You guessed it… one of those clocks! And on an odd note, she did give the clock away to someone in Georgia. Maybe the clock is making rounds… and hey, maybe it will be your turn to have it someday. My daughter’s theory about the clock is this… that it had something to do with 9/11 and the company’s tragic loss of family members and corporate employees in the Twin Towers. She bought it as a damaged item after 9-11. I am not saying it was damaged in the tragedy —it was not. Someone dropped it after it got to the local store. She means that some of the grief from local store employees could have imprinted on the item. My thought is, something inside the clock changed when it was dropped, and it became something different entirely. Then there is the chance that the clock was just “different” from the beginning, just like some people are. It’s a pretty good story…
Beetle, illustration Rick Daddario
by David John Drew
or reasons beyond the mysteries of existence I had been experiencing vivid dreams of a cockroach scuttling through my mind at night. That 300 million year old pest that harbored itself deep within the crevices of human civilization, and nourished itself on our waste. My skin itched even at the thought of this monstrous vermin invading the otherwise pleasant vales of my sleep, and I experienced the same twitching shock that ran through Gregor Samsa in the ‘Metamorphosis’ by Franz Kafka, when he found himself transformed into a gigantic beetle. However, when I began to describe the aforementioned creature to my wife she said that the small iridescent bug was in fact a scarab (or ‘dung’) beetle, and that it signaled some sort of good fortune. The opinion of an objective observer can shed a greater light on a seemingly immense problem and convert it into positive power. The shimmering, bejewelled scarab piqued my interest and provoked me to search, to learn the whole undiluted tale of this mystical and mythical bug. Paleolithic ornaments from 10-20,000 years ago indicate that primitive, shamanistic societies attributed ﬂying beetles such as the scarab with powerful properties. In addition to being a source of food and nutrition they were worn as ornamental symbols of celestial magic. The Scarab beetle in particular was viewed as a creator of the world and humanity because of its capacity to form perfectly round balls of earth; the South-American Chaco tribe worshipped a giant scarab called Aksak who was credited with modeling the first man and woman from clay. The ancient Egyptians revered the scarab as an embodiment of the God Khepri (God of the Sun) and the processes of birth, life, death and renewal. The Semitic and hieroglyphic connotations of the scarab in Egyptian language connect it with transformation and active creation. Carved representations of it can be seen throughout ancient Egyptian culture; worn as adornments, amulets, and jewellery. Later these precious orna-
ments were placed over the heart of the mummified deceased to be used on the ‘Day of Judgment’ as the final weight of justice against the feather of truth. It seems unbelievable that a small and insignificant insect with the bad habit of burrowing in cow dung and making round balls made it as the earthly incarnation of ‘Ra’ the God of light, and had a bit of leverage for the sinner before the heavenly judge. But legends grow of seeing beyond the apparent surface and appearance of a thing, toward understanding its core spiritual and symbolic essence. Little wonder then that the scarab beetle was discretely incorporated into the common traditions of Christian believers; in the collection of Celtic folklore, the Carmina Gadelica he is dubbed ‘cearr-dubhan’ or sacred beetle and is placed as a witness to the life and death of Christ, his role preserved within the notion of resurrection. All of this mythical and legendary substance of the scarab was carried forward into the twentieth century with beautiful glass evocations created by the designers such as Tiffany of the art nouveau movement creating sublime jewellery pieces; tiny and delicately colored beetles adorning the necks of society ladies; each worn with the hope of a sparkling life filled with good luck. One of my favorite stories regarding this creature, and particularly relevant to this tale regards the psychologist Carl Jung. One of his patients was busy describing to him a dream involving a scarab beetle, and was kept being distracted by a small knocking at the window. Entirely frustrated he jumped up to see what the bother was and discovered that a species of scarabæidæ was the one who was asking to be allowed into his consultation room. From this event he developed his notion of ‘synchronicity’; that the occurrence of two events that are not linked causally, nor linked teleologically, yet are meaningfully related. Anyway, my thoughts, reﬂections and research evolved into a small poem into which I incorporated some relevant themes. The rhyme echoes the Pantoum style; the constant repetition of verses, like a dream...
Scærubus Bound on earth, enclosing warmth, Thunder, clouds gaze into my mind, An azure beetle, engraving round Midnight wings, tempering my soul. Thunder cracks, glazing my mind, Drilling this skull, scuttling the tomb, Midnight songs, tempting the soul, Melody of truth, blanket of lies. Drumming this skin, spinning a womb, Two-faced child, weighing the law, Monotony of truth, the burden of eyes, Riding the sky on Crow’s black wings. Blue-laced shield, creaking claw, Reading the sky on Crow’s navigating, Azazel beetle, encircling ground Blended worth, enveloping hearth.
David John Drew
Beetle, by Jean-Baptiste Duret
Bleuet, by Jean-Baptiste Duret
The intention of WISP is to provide a place for personal stories; inspirational, light, humorous, challenging or anything in between… and beyond. We would welcome any kind of personal writing, artistic works, poems, essays, etc. Find previous issues and all published stories on our website...
http://wisp.focusphere.net Wisp e-zine — Issue #5 — September 2008 — ISSN 1760-4796 No part of this magazine may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher
Fifth issue (September 2008) of Wisp e-zine. See http://wisp.focusphere.net/wisp/05/release